The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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[306]
     Or, thronging close, from roadside rill,
Or sunny lakelet, drinking.
     Now crowding in the narrow road,
In thick and struggling masses,
     They glare upon the teamster's load,
Or rattling coach that passes.

Anon, with toss of horn and tail,
     And paw of hoof, and bellow,
They leap some farmer's broken pale,
     O'er meadow-close or fallow.
Forth comes the startled goodman; forth
     Wife, children, house-dog, sally,
Till once more on their dusty path
     The baffled truants rally.

We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown,
     Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony,
Like those who grind their noses down
     On pastures bare and stony,—
Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs,
     And cows too lean for shadows,
Disputing feebly with the frogs
     The crop of saw-grass meadows!

In our good drove, so sleek and fair,
     No bones of leanness rattle;
No tottering hide-bound ghosts are there,
     Or Pharaoh's evil cattle.
Each stately beeve bespeaks the hand
     That fed him unrepining;
The fatness of a goodly land
     In each dun hide is shining.